


An Abundance of Kittens

by writerforlife



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tony and Peter have cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: A story about Tony and Peter, Christmas, and the numerous kittens Peter decides to give a home.





	An Abundance of Kittens

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! I hope everyone enjoys this -- it's Christmas story about Peter and Tony and MANY kittens. This was written as part of the Marvel Writing Challenge, which you can find on Tumblr!

Christmas last year had been less than spectacular for Tony Stark.

Quite a few things had contributed to the clusterfuck that was Tony Stark’s Miserable Christmas of 2016. He made a list—didn’t check it twice, because he knew full well what caused his anxiety attacks and nightmares. His split with Pepper still being a thing. His best friend grappling with paralysis. Peter Parker nearly getting himself killed. Toomes. Moving from the Tower, then deciding he couldn’t let it go. Thor and Bruce vanishing into space. Clint just… vanishing. Steve and Natasha becoming international fugitives. Steve beating the shit out of him in a Siberian warehouse (although he, too, had done his fair share of beating) then fleeing with his mother’s murderer. 

Things like that tended to fuck up a person. 

For once, he didn’t feel much like celebrating. 

He’s going to make Christmas 2017 different though. Pepper brought about the idea, saying  _ different  _ like it was a magic word that could erase all the problems he carried. That’s how she says it now, as she sits in front of him with a notepad and slight smile.  _ Different.  _

“And we could do the party on Christmas Eve, I think,” Pepper says, tapping the pen against the notebook while they sat on the couch together. “That’s when most of the big names we’d need are available, and we could do holiday bonuses for—”

“Can I stop you?” he asks. Pepper blinks, like she didn’t think he was actually listening. “I don’t want…” He swallows hard, forcing himself to look Pepper in the eye. “We didn’t do it last year. Civilization didn’t collapse. Let’s give the employees wowzer bonuses and call it a day. Pep, I don’t think I can answer all the questions that will come. Everyone will want to know about him. I can’t handle that.” 

“Tony, it doesn’t have to be about that,” she says. “It can be about celebrating—”

“This was an event we put on as the Avengers. I was the face, sure, but I was the least interesting person there by far. Can we…” He swallows hard. “Let’s do something small. Me, you, Rhodey, Happy. We can invite the Spiderling and his aunt, too.”

“Is that what you want?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is that what the Parkers want?”

“I’ll ask Peter and May?” 

“Okay, changing tactics, then.” She flips over to a new page on her notepad and writes  _ STARK/POTTS CHRISTMAS 2017.  _

“What about a hyphen somewhere in there?” Tony asks. “Stark-Potts? Potts-Stark?”

Pepper smirks. “What about a date for our wedding?” 

“You’re sneaky.” 

“ _ You’re  _ trying to change the topic. Gifts for May and Peter?”

“I’ll work on it.”

“Will you, or will we be moving Heaven and Earth to get something delivered Christmas Eve? Because I don’t want to be bribing any UPS drivers this year.”

“Ye of little faith. I’ll get May something nice and slip in some cash—you should see how much that kid eats, Pep. Peter can have, like, a private jet.”

“No!” She swats his foot with the notepad. “He’s sixteen, Tony. The only sixteen year-old I’ve ever known of who had a  _ personal  _ private jet was you.” 

“Point made.” He kicked over the side so he could lay his head on Pepper’s lap, and felt his lips quirk up involuntarily as she ran her fingers through her hair. 

What he didn’t want to say that a private jet or something expensive would’ve been  _ beyond  _ easy. Throwing money at complicated situations usually cleaned them up, but this was different. Peter wasn’t some issue that needed fixing; if anything, the issue was how close Tony had grown to the kid. A simple system to monitor his vitals turned into alerts of varying urgency delivered to his phone every time he went out to patrol. A few visits to the lab became a weekly tradition where they worked out the kinks of Peter’s suit and improved other technology. Tony visited Peter, checked in on his grades, took him for dinner sometimes. A real gift would be admitting that Peter meant something to him—which meant he had someone to lose. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Pepper says. 

“Just thinking,” Tony replies. “I wonder what the kid’s up to now.”

“You know him. What do you think?”

Tony grimaces. “I’d like to say heroics. Probably trouble, though.”

 

#

 

Queens was beautiful at this time of night.

Peter swings through the streets, not paying attention to the first thrums of holiday shoppers walking home with bags, not paying attention to the narrow alleyways. Crime sprees increase during the holidays, but he doesn’t plan on seeking out any criminals. Not tonight.  _ Web, swing, web. Web, swing, web _ . He repeats it in his head, not because he needed to, but because if he didn’t, his thoughts would be somewhere else. 

_ Web, swing, web.  _

Christmas wasn’t always fun.

_ Web, swing, web.  _

Things he could ignore during the rest of the year blared during the holidays.

_ Web, swing, web.  _

When he saw the array of red and green lights dotting the streets, decorated displays in storefronts, and trees strung with ornaments, his chest tightened—and not in a good way. 

_ Web, swing, web.  _

Christmas tore at open wounds, stretching his skin further and further until he had no choice but to bleed. 

_ Web, swing _ —

His web misses its target.

“Shit!” He only realizes that Spider-Man  _ probably shouldn’t swear _ because of the whole role model thing until he’s tumbling from a rooftop into one of the very alleyways he’d tried to ignore. With a deft twist, he maneuvers into a diving form, then shoots a web at a brick wall. It hits. He swings lower and ricochets off before webbing to another building. He repeats the process until his feet are on the ground—or on garbage—and his thumping heart settles. 

He groans and buries his head in his hands.  _ This  _ is why he doesn’t like the holidays. Distractions. May had once shared his dislike for Christmas, but over the years, she’d softened, trying to share in the season. “It’s what they would want,” she’d say, like it would fix everything. It didn’t. Peter didn’t have the strength to say that. He expected Mr. Stark not to enjoy Christmas, but last time he visited the Tower, decorations covered every inch of open space. 

Once again, he’s alone in his feelings.

Suddenly, he feels his senses tingling. Removing his hands from his face, he forms fists and stands how Happy and Mr. Stark taught him. No figures emerge from the shadows, though; instead, eight pairs of eyes peer at him from shin-level. As he kneels, a group of mangy cats—a mixture of adults and kittens—move into the light. Some lick and worry at irritated red scratches or burn; all are too thin, with rib bones rippling and visible under matted and filthy fur. A black kitten meows plaintively, tossing his head back and forth. 

“Hey, guys.” Peter kneels, keeping his hands visible. “How are we tonight?” With one hand, he begins to make a basket out of web. “Want to come somewhere warm?” 

Seven of the cats recoil, but the black kitten prances forward and leaps into the basket, sitting there like he’d been waiting for Peter his entire life. Slowly, the rest of the cats follow, until they’re all in the basket, staring at Peter. 

“Alright, guys.” Only now does Peter consider  _ where  _ he’s going with eight cats. Not to Aunt May, who’s working to make Christmas the best it can be with what they’ve gone through and doesn’t need more cat. 

A place comes to him, and before he thinks about it too much, he sets off. 

 

#

 

It’s late by the time Peter gets to the Tower. 

He lets himself in—which is a thing he can  _ do _ , let himself into Avengers Tower, and he’s totally cool about it—and greets Friday before going down to the lab. Before opening the door, he stands outside in the hallway, listening to the pounding bass and Tony singing along to his music. A small smile creeps to his face. Everyone knows Tony’s story—he remembers Ben watching the news coverage when he was rescued from Afghanistan, Peter himself was there at the Stark Expo where the suits malfunctioned, and he’d sat in front of the TV when he flew the nuke into the wormhole. Not everyone knew this version of Tony, the man who failed more than he succeeded in the lab and drank coffee blacker than motor oil. The man who offered soft, tired smiles and constructive criticism on Peter’s work.

The man who’d somehow become another person Peter could lose. 

He inhales, clearing his mind before opening the lab door. 

“I told you, I’d come to bed when—” Tony leans his elbows on the bench when his eyes meet Peter’s. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“I’m sixteen!” Peter readjusts his grip on the basket of cats. 

“And a growing Spider-Boy who needs to do well in school.” Tony narrows his eyes. “What do you have behind your back?” 

“Nothing!” Peter scrambles back, but the cats—probably upset by the sudden movement—meow in protest. 

“What was that?”

“I, uh, do that sometimes, you know—”

One of the cats leaps from the basket and sprints across the lab in a flash of orange. Tony gasps, but Peter can’t help but laugh when the cat makes a beeline for Dum-E and swats at the whirring robot. 

“Dum-E! No!” Tony throws a wrench at the robot and scoops the cat away. He holds her at an arm’s length—Peter’s reminded of Rafiki and Simba and really wishes he could take a picture. “How many cats do you have?”

He sets the basket on one of the counters. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Stark.”

“Seven! There are seven cats in this basket!”

“Don’t forget this one.” He places the orange cat back in the blanket’s warmth. “They were cold! And sad-looking!  If I was cold with all the tech you put in my suit, they were probably  _ freezing _ .”

“Kid—”

“Here’s the other two things.” He shuffles his feet. “One, Aunt May would literally murder me if I brought eight cats into the apartment. I’ve never checked if we can have pets. Two, I named a lot of them on the way over, and it would be mean to put them back on the street when they have  _ names. _ ”

“This isn’t a house for strays.”

“What about me?”

“You’re a human, and not really a stray.”

“The shelters are already overcrowded.”

“Are you really pulling the  _ no room at the inn _ card with me? At Christmas?”

“Just for a few nights.” Peter considers saying please until he’s out of breath—it worked when he was six;  he could manage a lot more  _ pleases _ with his super strength—but Tony sighs. 

“A few nights,” he says. “They’re your cats, though.”

“My cats.” He scratches the black kitten’s head. It meows and turns to nudge his nose into Peter’s palm. With a smile, he turns to Tony, who’s watching with an expression that’s either pure exasperation or fake disdain. He can’t really tell.

But that’s okay, because he has the cats—and a distraction. 

 

#

 

The cats take over first a corner, then a room. 

Bastards.

Because for a week, every night Peter patrols, he brings minimum two, maximum six cats. Tony doesn’t know how he manages to  _ carry  _ six cats. Every time, Tony means to say that this would be the last time. Every time, Peter brings out a  _ they were cold  _ or  _ she looked hungry _ , and Tony suddenly has new cats. 

When Peter comes over after school, he waves hello to Tony, then heads straight for the cats. One day, Tony’s passing by when he hears  _ singing.  _

“Spider-Cat, Spider-Cat,” Peter sings, helping one of the kittens walk up the wall. “Does whatever a Spider-Cat does.” 

A snide remark comes to him, but when Peter continues the song and kisses the kitten on the nose. Something inside his chest melts as Peter giggles and picks up two more cats. He was never allowed to be a kid like this. Howard didn’t like animals, and by the time he was in college, getting a pet seemed ridiculous. 

Another day, Tony joins him, nodding briefly as he walks into the room. 

Peter grabs a kitten who’d been battering a rubber ball with a fearsome snarl—or as fearsome as a seven-pound ball of fluff could be. “I am the fearsome Loki!” Peter props the tiny kitten onto his back legs and makes a roaring sound as Tony sits down next to him. “KNEEEEEEEEL!” 

“That was very not-funny at the time,” Tony says. “Captain America would be disappointed in you.” He doesn’t mention that, when he wanted to be, Steve Rogers was a bastard, or how he grinned smugly when he said,  _ Elevator isn’t worthy.  _ He especially doesn’t mention that sometimes he lays awake thinking how different his life would be if Steve found Peter first. They would’ve gotten along fabulously. 

Peter grins and moves the cat toward Tony. “Kneeeeeeeeeeel,” he whispers in a bad Asgardian accent. 

“Is his name actually Loki?”

“Yup.”

“Jesus, he’s going to grow up to be a drama king. The real Loki threw me out a building, Pete. A  _ building _ . My building!”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“No thanks to Thor’s bastard brother. Or Thor, for that matter.” He wonders where the resident Asgardian prince is. And Banner. And the other Avengers, for that matter.

“Nooooo, don’t insult Thor.” Peter grabs another cat—this one orange and chubby—with his right hand. “They’re both sensitive.” 

“You did not…”

“These are Thor and Loki.” Peter points to more cats in the corner. “Cat Widow, Cat-tain America, Hulk, Hawkeye, and Tony.” The animals stare back at Tony. Peter grins. 

“Tony?” Tony repeats. “You’ll call the cat  _ Tony  _ but I’m still Mr. Stark?” 

“Sometimes I call the cat Mr. Stark, too.”

“You know we can’t keep all these.” 

“I know. I’m already trying to adopt some of them out. Thor, Hawkeye, and Hulk all have homes with people on the Academic Decathlon teams.” Peter strokes their heads. “Good kitties.”

“What about you?” 

“No, I couldn’t take care of a cat. I wouldn’t be good with it.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony glances at Loki, who’s snuggled against Peter’s chest like he’s lived there his entire life. “Any other reason?”

“Like I said. Wouldn’t be good.” He kisses Loki’s head again, and Jesus, Tony has never wanted a kid so badly. He needs to tell Pepper that he wants one. Maybe three. Or five. It isn’t like they don’t have the space and money. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Tony frames his words casually, like he’s had an abundance of things to do and he hasn’t put off this question. “Do you and your aunt want to come to the Tower for Christmas?”

Peter’s hand freezes over the cat. For an instant, fear flashes in his expression; like putting on his mask, he schools it into something more normal. 

“I’ll have to ask May,” he says. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just the holidays are… busy.”

“Is it something with money?”

“Not really.” Peter refuses to meet his eyes. “I’ll just have to ask her.”

“Alright, kid.” He tries to push away the slight feeling of disappointment. It isn’t like he has any claim on him. “Are we going to go in the lab, or are you just going to play with the cats?” 

“Cats,” Peter says. Then he sighs and looks at Tony with wide, unblinking eyes. “But I also want updates on my suit.”

“Want to bring one of the cats to the lab?” Tony holds up one finger when Peter gasps. “One cat means one cat, sir. I’m not going to give Dum-E an entire cat fleet to play with.”

And just like that, Peter lights up “Come on, Loki.” He coos to the sleeping cat on his shoulder. “Wanna do some science? Wanna learn how to build things with Mr. Stark?”

A smile creeps to his lips, completely unexpected, along with the warm feeling in his chest. When he recruited him to fight against Steve and the rest of the team, he hadn’t expected  _ this.  _ Dinners. Afternoons in the lab. Peter coming in with his cheeks flushed red from cold or excitement. He’s grateful all the same.

 

#

 

Now that Peter’s looking for cats, he can’t seem to  _ stop  _ finding them. He thinks maybe a rumor has passed around the cat community, because strays approach him on his patrols, meowing expectantly. When he brings them to the Tower, Tony looks exasperated, but Peter notices the brand-name cat food and blankets. They care for them together, cleaning litter boxes, playing, and sometimes, building tiny prosthetics for the injured ones. Peter likes watching Tony attach the limbs—he talks to the cats like they’re patients, making jokes as he works. 

One afternoon, he’s playing with one of the cats with two prosthetic legs, laying on his stomach and shaking a little stuffed bear. Tony walks in and sits cross-legged across from him, a slight smile on his face.

“You really don’t want to keep one of these monsters?” Tony asks. “You’re a beast at adopting them out, but I think you’re getting attached.”

Peter swallows hard as Loki curls into his lap. Despite his success at finding people to adopt the cats, he can’t bring himself to put a picture of Loki on his Instagram. He will. But not yet. He could imagine himself keeping Loki, but a pet was a liability when he was making enemies on the daily. “I’m not getting attached. Maybe  _ you’re  _ getting attached.”

“Come on. Think of how cute Loki would look in a Santa hat.”

“I guess.” 

A strange look passes over Tony’s face. “Can I ask you something, kid? What is it with you and Christmas?” 

“What?”

“I expected you to be Mr. Holidays himself.” 

“I’m going to get you a gift, don’t worry. And I just haven’t had time to ask Aunt May about coming over.”

“Kid, this isn’t about a present or anything like that.” Tony shifts, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Me? I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Peter forces a wide grin—Tony had seen through it when they had their Come-to-Jesus about a building falling on him, but he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll work this time.

Tony frowns. “Maybe if you want to convince me, don’t say it three times.” 

“Isn’t that what makes it more convincing?” 

Tony’s lips quirk to the side as his gaze falls. For a moment, Peter wants to say,  _ You just can’t get close to me. Everyone who does eventually gets hurt.  _ Especially around the holidays. But instead, he puts Loki on Tony’s shoulder, letting the kitten paw around. 

“A  _ building _ . Remember?” Tony says. 

“He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Peter kisses Loki’s head. Loki swats Peter’s cheek.

Across from him, Tony is smiling. 

Peter wants to smile.

He really does. 

But he knows this can’t last.

Not much does. 

 

#

 

One night, when Peter was supposed to come over but texted last-minute that he couldn’t, Tony finds himself passing the cat room. True to what Peter said, Thor, Hawkeye, and Hulk are gone, but six more have taken their place. Tony counts twelve cats in total, including Loki, who watches Tony from the corner with a cool gaze. 

“What do you want?” Tony stifles a yawn as he looks over his shoulder, then closes the door behind him. The cats stare at him, as if asking where Peter was. “You’re all squatters,” he says. “Taking advantage of my good nature.”

Cat-tain America—who has a full gray coat and infuriatingly blue eyes—meows indignantly and strides up to Tony, head cocked to the side.

“Cat-tain America.” Tony scoffs. “Are you as much of a little shit as Steve Rogers?”

The cat begins to swat and claw at his shoe.

“Hey!” Tony yanks his foot away and points at the cat. “ _ These  _ are very expensive. I’m sure Parker got you toys.” When he searches, he finds a box of homemade toys—surely made in the lab when he was  _ supposed  _ to be improving his suit. Tony chooses a candy-cane striped stick with a long string and green pom-pom attached to it, and waves it. Cat-tain’s eyes track it before he pounces in the exact spot where the ball  _ used  _ to be. 

“You gotta be faster.” Tony waves the pom-pom again, this time to his right. When Cat-tain jumps, he jerks the string to the left. “You gonna get it this time?” 

He moves the stick in front of his chest, but instead of waiting, Cat-tain  _ pounces.  _ Tony’s sitting upright, then there’s fifteen pounds of muscled cat springing at him. And he’s flat on his back. Cat-tain meows triumphantly and stands on Tony’s stomach like it’s some mountain he just conquered. Some of the other cats walk over curiously, stepping on Tony’s arms and legs with  _ zero  _ regard for his expensive clothes. When he turns his head, he sees Loki sitting near his head, swishing his tail regally.

“Any help?” Tony asks. 

Loki runs in the other direction. 

“Well, you suck.”

Suddenly, there’s a giggle in the doorway. “Having fun?” 

Tony sits up, displacing at least four cats and landing Cat-tain in his lap. Pepper and Rhodey watch him, twin amused expressions on their faces. 

“Still not the worst thing you’ve found me doing,” Tony says. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you liked the cats,” Rhodey says. 

“Parker’s adopting them out. They just need a place to stay until then.”

Pepper grins when Loki rubs against her ankles and scoops him into her arms. “But they’re so adorable!”

“Potts, we are not keeping a dozen cats.” 

“Give me a good reason not to.” She sits cross-legged beside him. Loki curls up in her lap, then shoots Tony a triumphant look. Tony opens his mouth, but she waves her hand. “Just let me enjoy this.”

“Did you have a reason for ambushing me?” Tony looks to Rhodey, who’s leaning against the doorway with a content smile. “Or just for funsies?”

“Christmas business,” Rhodey says. 

Tony groans and rolls his eyes.

“Did you get an answer from Peter and May?” Pepper asks. “Happy’s a yes. He says, and I quote,  _ ‘I don’t care if the kid comes, as long as I don’t have to drive him _ .’” Pepper grins and nudges Rhodey’s shoulder. “But he was lying. He seems interested in May, too.” 

“About that.” Tony grimaces and sets the cats who have resettled on his lap aside. “I can’t get an answer from Peter. I’ve asked him, and he just shuts down.”

“He’s not one of your robots, Tones,” Rhody says.

“Obviously not. That would be a problem I could fix. Of all the people in the world, I expected Mr. I’m-Enthusiastic-About-Everything to be a Christmas fiend.” 

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Every time I try, he goes running to the cats.”

“I wonder who that sounds like.” Pepper flicks her eyes downward, to the floor where his lab in, and Tony feels horribly (maybe fairly) called out. “Will you try again? I’d love to get to know him better.”

“I know, Pep. I’ll try.” 

“Good.” She leans down and kisses his cheek. “I’ll be home late tonight. Love you.”

As Pepper leaves, Rhodey leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tony asks. “Hand to God, didn’t do anything.”

“Want to know who I heard from recently?” Rhodey says. 

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what I say.” 

“Sam Wilson.”

There’s a phantom ache in Tony’s chest, where the arc reactor used to be. “And what did he have to say?” 

“Mostly another apology about this.” Rhodey motions at the robotic braces around his legs. “I told him I was on my feet again. He just wanted to let me know that any rumors about Steve Rogers being dead weren’t true.”

“Dead?” Tony echoes. 

“He went on some solo mission and nearly got sent back in a box. Some stray Hydra cell that… that held Barnes for awhile. It was touch and go, but he pulled through. Stubborn bastard.” 

“Oh.” Tony can’t find any other words. He thinks he’s glad that Steve isn’t dead. “How’d he make it out?” 

“Tones—”

“You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want me to know.”

“Barnes is out of cryo. Apparently he went in guns blazing and dragged Steve out.” Rhodey lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I just thought…”

“That I should reach out.” 

“It’s up to you.” 

Cat-tain America rubs against Tony’s ankles. Tony absentmindedly runs his hand over his gray fur, thinking how Peter has taken care to fatten him up. “I’ll think about it.”

“Either way, you aren’t obligated to forgive him.” Rhodey’s smile has a sad tinge. Tony thinks of the college kid he met, who was bright-eyed and ready to fight for his country, compared to the man in front of him now. “But it’s Christmas. It could be worth a try.”

#

Peter’s mood sours as Christmas approaches. He can’t bring it back to the apartment. He knows that. The holidays are stressful on May, and he can’t be another point of stress, no matter what she says.

But he can’t stop remembering. 

One Christmas, his parents. An accident. A slippery road. 

A few years later, Ben. One last present to pick up for May. An unhinged man with a gun. Then, he’d nearly lost May to pneumonia the next year. She’d pulled through, but Peter decided he’d just about had it with Christmas. 

Most new people who enter his life are only potential future wounds.

Memories—combined with a startling lack of sleep, a few bad grades at the end of the semester, trying to scrape together money for presents, and some nasty bruises and a cut on his side from an asshole trying to steal presents—make for a downright shitty night. He isn’t feeling the holiday cheer. Not at all. 

May is.

“I don’t know what you’d want for dinner that night. I don’t think you want me to cook.” She pauses to frown at the microwaved vegetables and (admittedly good) mac and cheese. “We could do Thai.”

“Tony invited us to the Tower for Christmas,” Peter blurts. As soon as he says it, he wants to throw himself out the window and swing away. 

May’s jaw drops as she puts down her fork. “Why am I just hearing about this now? A week before Christmas? I’m going to have to shop for Tony Stark, and  _ fuck _ , Pepper Potts! What do you give the CEO of Stark Industries?” 

“May—”

“Did you tell him yes?” May looks at him expectantly, then sighs. “Peter—”

“He doesn’t know. About me and...”

“He’s Tony Stark. He monitors your vitals while you patrol. I’m sure he knows what happened to…” She inhales, steadying herself. “I sure he’s aware of your past.”

“I asked him not to look.” Peter bows his head, pushing his peas and carrots around. 

He wanted Tony to see him as the future, not as a bundle of tragedies masquerading as a hero.  _ I know you want to know,  _ he’d said.  _ But please don’t try to find out what made me.  _ Tony studied him with a complicated expression, then nodded and gripped Peter’s shoulder. Peter supposes if anyone would understand, it would be Tony—he didn’t get the luxury of hiding it when his parents were murdered. 

“Peter.” May reaches across the table and takes his hand. “I know it still hurts. Trust me, baby. But I want you to enjoy Christmas. I remember you as a kid.” She smiles, more to herself than at Peter. “You’d wake up at three in the morning just to make sure Santa came. Your mom couldn’t get you back to sleep, so you’d do presents then.”

“May…” He rubs his hand over his face, then stands. “I think I’m going to patrol tonight. Get an early start.”

“Peter, you can’t just—” 

“I’ll keep you updated.” His breath hitches as he closes his door behind him. Nope. He can’t cry. For a moment, he imagines finding Loki on his pillow. He scoffs at himself. Spider-Man can’t have a cat.  _ A liability.  _

“Peter!” May calls. 

“Patrolling!” He changes into his suit, relaxing as it tightens over his body, then climbs out the window. He really isn’t in the mindset to patrol, but he also can’t be here.

That leaves one place.

 

#

 

Tony’s sitting on the couch, barefoot and wearing a black tank top, watching some cooking show and eating Stark Raving Hazelnuts from the carton when he hears the door unlocked. “That’s not supposed to happen,” he mutters. Pepper was supposed to be out for the rest of the night. He raises his right hand, but Peter walks in, wearing a hoodie and jeans.

“Jesus, kid, announce yourself. None of this sneaky stuff.” Tony sinks against the couch cushions. “Have you ever heard of a coat?”

“Suit,” Peter says. “Heaters are on.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Nope.”

Tony turns his show down and puts the ice cream aside. “What’s got you giving one word answers? Also, how exactly did you get all the way up here?” Peter has access to the general building and the lab, but for Tony and Pepper’s personal floor, he has to get buzzed in. Everyone does—even Rhodey and Happy. 

“Nothing.” Peter strides down the hallway.

“Seriously? You’re going to go all teenager on me now?” He finds Peter in the cat room, Loki already on his lap with his head against his stomach. Something’s wrong with the curve on his shoulders, and his lips are turned downward. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m serious.”

“Come on.” Tony kneels next to him, pressing his hand to his ribs. Peter flinches away, grimacing. “Those are bruises. How bad is this? Was this a perp?”

“No.”

“Is someone else hurting you?”

“No.”

“Pete—”

“It’s nothing!” He scrambles to his feet, tucking Loki against his shoulder. “It’s nothing, but nobody will stop asking—”

Loki yelps. 

Peter drops him and pales, staring at his own trembling hands. With a jolt, Tony remembers Peter’s strength tests. He kneels next to the kitten, feeling his paws, bones, and head. 

“Hey, you didn’t hurt him,” Tony said. “Look, he’s okay.”

Peter swipes at his eyes. “Can you leave me alone?”

“I hate to point this out when you’re obviously feeling grumpy, but you broke into my house. Where I  _ live _ . Seriously. How did you get in?”

“It was open.” 

“Open?” Tony taps his watch. “Friday?” Silence meets him. “Friday, are you going to leave me hanging?” 

“Come on.” He strides to his and Pepper’s bedroom, making sure Peter’s following, and finds the tablet he keeps under his pillow. “Get out of your suit. Hoodie and jeans.”

“Why?” Peter asks. 

“Because if we’re compromised, they can’t find Spider-Man. Mr. Intern Peter Parker is fine. So hoodie and jeans.” He opens the tablet to a map of the floor. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“On the ceiling. Up you go.” He looks at the map again and cringes at the red. Those are hacked doors. Hacked vents. “But keep the mask. Make sure you keep the toxicity filters on.”

“Mr. Stark?”

“Toxicity filters, mask  _ on _ .” He motions for Peter to climb the wall. “You want to be an Avenger eventually? Here’s a test. Someone broke into the building, and they’ve taken control of everything. My guess is they’re going to gas us to knock us out, and my nearest mask is in the lab. But, they’re only expecting me. Not you. If they try to snatch me, I’m counting on you to grab me before they get too far.”

His face contorts. “Mr. Stark.” 

“It’s going to be okay.” There’s a hissing in the vents. Tony tugs the mask over Peter’s face, even as his head spins. Yup. They’re going to knock him out. “You’ll be okay, Pete.”

Gas floods through the vents.

Slowly, he slips away into unconsciousness.

 

#

 

When he comes to, he’s tied to his bedpost and sitting on the floor. Three men stand in front of him, all wearing dark suits. 

“Gentlemen,” Tony croaks.

The palest man with a jagged scar across his cheek cracks his hand across Tony’s face. Tony cocks his head to the side, tasting blood on his tongue, and wonders if Peter made it out. At least he wasn’t removed from the premises.  _ That  _ makes things more complicated. 

“Good to meet you, too.”

“We have some questions” the man in the front, who has brutal blue eyes and a shock of dark hair, says with a thick accent. 

“Jesus Christ, Germans? Again? You guys should’ve come for my father. Back in the fucking forties.”

“Where is Captain Steve Rogers?”

“You’re about two years too late.” He thinks of the phone, tucked into his bedside drawer. “I haven’t heard from him since after the UN bombing.”

“Think carefully about your answer, Mr. Stark. There are other people on this floor. In this building. My people.” The dark-haired man produces a blade from his pocket presses it to Tony’s throat. A trail of blood dribbles from the cut he presses into Tony’s neck. “We know he would come for you, and the Winter Soldier would come for him, but he and your fiance will only find your body.”

_ Hydra.  _ Tony remembers the mission Rhodey told him about. “You all need a new hobby. Didn’t Cap beat you in the forties? Then again in 2014?” He strains against the zip ties, trying to tap his watch and get the gauntlet to cover his hand. “As long as he’s alive, you will never win.” 

And the second hit comes. 

Tony wants to sigh—and he would’ve if the man didn’t seem very okay with killing him. Between punches, he sees a shadow creeping across the ceiling. 

The dark-haired man cocks a gun and presses it to Tony’s forehead. “Count of three,” he snarls. “One.”

A web covers the blonde man’s mouth, then binds him to the floor. 

“Two.”

Peter does the same to the second man. 

“Three.” 

The gun’s plucked from the man’s hand with a stray web. He stares at his own hand, brow wrinkled, before Peter drops from the ceiling. Peter stands before the man for a moment, chest heaving and mouth open. Tony expects some witty quip, but Peter grabs the man’s collar and pulls him close.

“Don’t,” he grits out, “touch my family again.” 

He knocks him out with one punch. For a moment, he glares at the prone body, then stares at Tony. His eyes widen, and the brutality ebbs away as he rushes forward. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, undoing the zip ties. “I got most of the guys outside and building while you were out.”

“Thanks for dropping in.” Tony studies Peter—particularly the blood dotting his knuckles. “You?”

“Fine.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“I swear, Mr. Stark, it—”

Suddenly, four men rush in from outside the room tackle Peter. Shit. He didn’t check for the leftover men—rookie move. Tony surges forward with a shout, but three more lunge from behind and knock him to the floor. A blade skims his side. He grimaces, dodging the assailant’s attempt at a stabbier-stab and tapping his watch. “About time,” he mutters. With a quick spin, he blasts two of the attackers with his newly present gauntlet. They’re flung back, slamming against the window, but the last man reaches for his waist.

Shit. 

_ Gun.  _

He aims for Tony’s head and fires.

Tony drops and flattens himself against the polished floor. Air leaves in body in a dramatic gasp as his chest hits tile. 

A scream shatters the air.  

Tony drags himself into a sitting position as Peter—with a feral snarl on his face—springs forward. The shooter rears his arm back, but Peter grabs it and flips him onto his back in one brutal motion. The man lands with a thud and crack, then doesn’t move. Tony opens his mouth, but his voice catches in his throat as the other four men rush Peter. He’s seen him falter when combat isn’t one-on-one. 

Not now. 

Peter leaps onto the wall and skitters upwards, hands and feet a blur as he vanishes into the shadow. The attackers glance around, brows drawn together, but Peter drops from the ceiling. The standing two whirl to face him, but Peter blocks their blows and knocks them to the ground. Chest heaving and eyes wild, he grabs the gun and aims at the man who shot Tony. 

“No!” Tony coughs and struggles to his hands and knees. “Stop, Pete. Stop.”

Peter’s face contorts.

“You don’t want to do this.”

His lower lip quivers. With a cry, he pistol-whips the last attacker. The gun clatters to the floor as Peter drops to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Tony crawls toward him and pulls his hands away, keeping his grip loose against the blood and blooming bruises. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

“They…” Peter’s voice is ragged, rough-edged. “They shot at your head.” 

“I ducked.” Tony studies Peter before looking over his shoulder at the haphazardly-strewn bodies. His head spins slightly. He knows Peter is strong—all tests make him out to be  _ much  _ stronger than Steve Rogers. He also knows that Peter doesn’t aim to kill. 

Here, though, was different.

Here, he was going to kill. 

There’s a quiet meow from the corner.  _ Oh, God.  _ Tony exhales. The damn cats. 

Peter presses his hands to his mouth and sobs. “I’m sorry,” he says between tears. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I thought they… I thought… I only saw…” Peter motions at his head. “You dropped… my uncle…” 

“Hey, none of that. Come on, kiddo.” Tony pulls Peter to his chest and holds him close, running his hand through his curls. He wipes the blood near Peter’s temple away, shushing him as he cries. He tries to ignore how the kid trembles, how his tears soak Tony’s shirt. “They’re going to have to try harder to get rid of me.”

In response, Peter cries harder.

Some of the cats wander into the room, pawing at the blood and webbed-up bodies. Tony exhales, searching for a familiar black kitten before he remembers what Peter did. He’s never wanted to see a stupid cat more. 

“What can I do, Pete?” 

Peter pulls away, wiping at his eyes. 

“Let me help you.” 

He sniffles, finally looking Tony in the eye. “Can we talk?”

For the first time that night, his heartbeat settles. “Absolutely.”

 

#

 

Peter tries not to sniffle as Tony hands him a mug. On his lap, Loki meows and nudges his thigh.

“I wish you were older. This calls for a stiffer drink than peppermint tea.” He sniffs his own mug and wrinkles his nose, but settles next to him on the couch and takes a sip. “So SHIELD has been contacted, Fury is cleaning up the mess, and Pepper’s fine. That means I’m all yours for as long as you need me. What’s eating at you, kid?”

Peter can’t find the words. He was going to kill a man. A few men, maybe. He’d seen Tony on the floor and… 

“You look pale. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m going to tell you some things,” Peter says. “And I haven’t really said this to anyone else, and I know I told you there weren’t things I didn’t want you to know about me, but I feel like you need to know.” He gulps his tea. It burns his throat. “I don’t want you to think of me differently. I want to be—”

“Peter.” Tony puts a hand on his neck. “There are always things in our past that we don’t want everyone to know. I could do without there being videos of me with torturers holding guns to my head or me being waterboarded. But you can’t let it define you.” 

“My parents at the beginning of December when I was seven,” Peter blurts. “Car accident, actually. Like yours.”

Tony’s lower lip twitches, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Just like that.” Peter snaps his fingers. “I was an orphan. May and Ben took me in… they couldn’t afford to, because Ben wanted to go to grad school and May still had student loan, and neither one of them wanted kids. But they took me.” He swallows hard. “I was so afraid without them. But Ben made me feel comfortable right away. He watched cartoons with me and took me to your Expo. The one with he suits.”

“God, that doesn’t make me feel good.” 

“I loved him. A lot. A few weeks before Christmas, when I was twelve, we went out to buy May a last minute present. I told him I knew a shortcut, so we took it. There was a mugger, though.” Peter grips the mug tighter and strokes Loki’s head. “Ben told me to run. I did. I didn’t even look back.” His voice cracks. “Three shots to the chest. He was alive when I came back.” 

“I’m so sorry.” Tony lays his hand on Peter’s forearm. 

“And then May got pneumonia a year or so ago, you’re always getting injured and kidnapped, and I can’t help…” Peter sets his mug down and turns to Tony; he feels tears welling in his eyes again. Tony doesn’t remove his hand from Peter’s arm. “I feel like I have something to do with this. You know? I can’t help but think this is somehow my fault. Everyone around me gets hurt eventually. I’m scared for Ned and MJ… and the cats. And I don’t like Christmas because it reminds me that so many people I love are gone.” 

Tony exhales, blinking fast. “Okay. You have a lot to unpack here, but I’m going to try my best to do this. Without alcohol. One. I’m so sorry about your parents and uncle. Genuinely. I know how it feels. Two. It is in no way your fault. I spent a lot of time blaming myself, but you didn’t crash your parents’ car, and your uncle would be so, so proud. Three. You aren’t some type of curse. Your aunt is lucky to have you. Hell, I’m lucky to have you. I have my life that has its own dangers—as you evidently saw—and you can’t control those. You can’t save everyone, Pete. Not even the people you love. Or cats. You shouldn’t write off Christmas. Like I said. You’re too young to be a Scrooge.”

“But it’s my responsibility to protect everyone.”

“No. It isn’t.” Tony stands up and paces. “This is why I didn’t want you in too young. You aren’t Atlas. You aren’t Steve Rogers. The world isn’t supposed to be on your shoulders. You’re loved, and you can love. It’s taken me a long time to learn that.”

Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They sit in silence for a long time before Peter clears his throat. “I think I want to put Loki up for adoption. The other cats are almost all gone.”

Tony furrows his brow. “But you love him. I’ve seen the way you are with him.”

“I know. But I…” For everything Tony has said, he knows he can’t keep Loki. No matter how much he wants to. “I can’t. I’ve seen people interested in him.” 

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” Tony nudges his shoulder. “You coming over for Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Peter smiles shakily and nods. “Yeah, I think we are.”

A brilliant grin flashes across his place. “Brilliant. I have a Christmas to plan.”

The weight in Peter’s chest lightens.

 

#

 

Slowly, things return to normal after the attack. 

The week before Christmas is a jumble chaotic events, strung together loosely with little rest between. Tony’s just glad nobody tries to kidnap him again. The cats slowly find homes, including Loki. When Peter visits, he stands in the doorway of the room where the cats were, eyes lingering on Loki’s blanket. The beginnings of a plan hatch in Tony’s mind. He and Rhodey wrap gifts together. He shops for food with Happy, and even cooks. Pepper insists on a real Christmas tree on their floor; together, they string lights along the pine branches and hang ornaments as Christmas carols blare on the radio. His cuts and bruises heal and fade. He doesn’t think about Steve Rogers. 

The whirlwind of holiday preparation culminates on Christmas evening. Tony soaks in the room. The tree leans lopsided, laden with all the ornaments Pepper wanted; an hour ago, legions of pristine presents sat in neat rows under it, but swaths of wrapping paper littered the floor. Like Peter had insisted, everyone wore an ugly Christmas sweater—Peter himself wearing an abomination masquerading as a festive Iron Man suit. Tony didn’t want to admit that he loved it. Across the room, Tony meets May’s eye. She nods, lips turned upward in a shaky smile that seems to say  _ thank you.  _

And that’s when Tony knows the time is right.

“Pepper, I think I forgot a present for Peter. Would you mind grabbing it?” Tony arches an eyebrow at Peter, who cocks his head to the side. 

“What else did you get me?” Peter asks. 

“Guess you’ll just have to see.”

“Tony, you’ve already done enough,” May said. “The education fund, the phone, the clothes. And for me—”

“This is a very personal gift.” Tony kisses Pepper on the cheek when she returns with a simple green box with a white bow. “Open it quick, kiddo.”

Peter unties the bow, bouncing his leg. When he removes the lid, his jaw falls open and tears form in his eyes. With a triumphant meow, Loki props his paws on the box’s edge and nips playfully at him. Peter laughs, pressing his one hand to his mouth and petting Loki with the other. The kitten leaps onto Peter’s chest, purring as Peter falls onto his back and lets him paw over his chest. 

“How did you get him back?” Peter asks through laughs. 

“I’m Tony Stark. I have my ways.” He winks at Pepper and Rhodey. The family who owned Loki—who had been abominably and uncreatively named  _ Oreo _ —now owned a very expensive collection of Stark tech in exchange for one shitty kitten. “I—”

A solid force hits Tony’s chest. Peter tucks his head into Tony’s neck and wraps his arms around him. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I missed him so much.”

“I know.” He smiles at the other adults over Peter’s head, then at Peter when he pulls away. “Christmas movies and cocoa?”

“I got it,” Happy says.

“Need help?” May asks. He grumbles, but they go to the kitchen together. 

Pepper arches a brow at Tony before looking at the ratty DVD box Peter brought. “ _ Die Hard? _ ”

“It’s a Christmas movie,” Peter and Tony say at the same time. 

Tony sits next to Peter—and by association, Loki—on the couch as May and Happy return with steaming cups of hot chocolate, topped with marshmallows, whipped cream, and candy canes. Rhodey settles on the third seat, slipping something into Tony’s hand. 

“Someone passed this along to me for you. I think you’ll be interested,” Rhodey says. He looks around, eyes lingering on May and Pepper chatting, Peter cradling Loki against his chest, Happy setting up the DVD. “Quite a family you’ve built for yourself.”

“I know. Who would’ve thought?”

“Me. I knew you had it in you. Make sure you read that, though.”

Halfway through the movie, Tony excuses himself and steps onto the balcony. Snow flutters to the ground, settling into gentle slopes as Tony works open the plain envelope, hands already feeling the chill. A note in Steve’s no-nonsense, Catholic-boy handwriting appears nestled within the paper. Tony exhales when he sees it. Shit. Just when he thought he’d moved past this situation (somewhat). 

“Here goes nothing,” he mutters to himself, then begins to read.

_ Tony: I hope this finds you well. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there in person. But I don’t mind telling you I’m in Wakanda.  _ _ Bucky _ _ Sgt. Barnes said I should tell you that. I don’t know if you’d want to see me, anyways, but I’d like to see you for myself. Make sure you’re alright. Because, Tony, I sincerely hope that you are alright. And not alone. Everyone deserves to be with someone during the holidays.  _

Tony blinks back tears before continuing. 

_ I think about Siberia. I don’t know if you do (as you can tell, there’s a lot I don’t know), but I hope you don’t blame yourself. That is all mine to shoulder. I should’ve told you about  _ _ Bucky _ _ Sgt. Barnes, but I was afraid. I nearly lost both of you in the end. Please know that my offer stands. If you need me, I’ll be there the minute you call. I hope you still have the phone. I hope you never have the occasion to use it, because if you do, I think something will have gone very wrong. But most of all, I hope you’re happy. Merry Christmas, Tony. Best, Steve Rogers.  _

And underneath his note, in curved handwriting, there’s a note that says  _ Regards from Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.  _ Tony waits for the familiar anger to gather, but instead there’s only a quiet resignation. He goes to slip the the envelope and letter into his jeans pocket, but another smaller envelope flutters out. 

_ For your consideration  _ is written in loopy cursive Tony instantly recognizes as Natasha’s handwriting. When he opens it, there’s a single photograph. He blinks once. Twice. 

Before the beautiful expanse of a Wakanda sunset, on a rolling green hill, Steve laughs, a plain black t-shirt stretched over his ropier muscles, a thick but trimmed beard covering his face. He leans into Barnes, who doesn’t laugh as raucously, but smiles without showing his teeth, eyes warm and human in the golden light. He’s less predator. Less animal. Tony sucks in a breath. Glinting silver rings hang around both their necks on identical chain, and at the bottom of the photograph, he sees that their hands are intertwined. 

_ Oh _ , he thinks.

He takes the phone from his jacket pocket, from the spot where he always carries it.  _ Merry Christmas, Rogers _ , he types, then sends it to the only number on the phone. 

He looks to the sky, to the wide expanse of black and starlight above him.  _ Something’s up there _ , a nagging voice in his voice reminded him, a constant presence since the Battle of New York, since fire and fury had flashed before his eyes. He grips his glass tighter, forcing himself to take a sip of wine and breathe. In December, the raw cold of outer space visits Earth, holding his breath and bones hostage with memories of freezing air invading his suit, of a moment of bated darkness. Something is coming. He’s known this. He can’t help but feel something is coming  _ soon _ . A part of him wants to send more to Steve.  _ Come home. _ His floor is ready. He could bring Natasha. They could go find Bruce, check in on Clint, even contact Thor. He imagines them meeting Peter, imagines the kid’s inevitable excited stutter when he met all his heroes—heroes that were better than Tony. 

Because Tony really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to be the last Avenger standing. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter steps onto the balcony, Loki wrapped in a blanket and tucked onto his shoulder. The yellow light from inside glows warmly, silhouetting him in gold. 

“Shouldn’t you be watching the movie?”

“I’ve seen it a million times.” Peter looks him over. “Are you alright?”

“Can you promise me something?” Tony whispers. 

“Yeah. Anything.”

“When the  _ real _ threat comes—you’ll know what I’m talking about when it’s here—I want you to stay out of it. Just… stay home.” 

Peter’s face hardens for a moment. “Mr. Stark, if the threat’s as big as you say it is,  won’t you need all the help you can get?”

_ No,  _ Tony thinks.  _ Not if it means losing you _ . “There are some fights we aren’t meant for.”

Peter looks out, not at space, but at the Christmas lights speckling the buildings below the high Tower balcony. Tony follows his gaze over twinkling bursts of red, green, and gold, “But you didn’t get to choose,” Peter says. “You had to fight. So did Captain America.”

“You’re right. Neither of us had a choice, but we worked to make sure you did.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter puts his hand on Tony’s shoulder, still holding Loki with his other hand. “We can work together, you know.” His voice holds more weight than should be possible for a sixteen year-old, and somehow, that brings Tony some comfort. 

“You know what, kid?” Tony turns his chin toward the falling snow. “I think you’re right about that one.”

“I know I am.” Peter offers a half smile. “Thank you again for helping me.”

“I’m glad to know I was a help, kid. I don’t think I’ve ever been much of a help to anyone.”

“That’s bullshit.” Peter gasps and covers Loki’s ears. “That’s stupid. You’ve helped me plenty. And I wanted to do this alone, so…” Peter pulls a small package from his coat pocket and hands it to Tony. “I think you’ll like it.” 

Tony pulls off the paper to reveal a small box. Inside, there’s a silver chain with a glass orb attached. 

“Press your thumb to it,” Peter says. 

Tony does as he’s told. A blue map of Stark Tower illuminates the night sky, complete with heat signatures and exits. 

“I made it for you. During battles. It picks up on the signals of wherever you are.” Peter blushes. “I don’t know, I thought it was… cool, but it seems stupid.”

“I love it,” Tony blurts. “You’re so smart, Peter. It’s amazing.”

Peter blushes, but smiles at Tony. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark.”

Tony returns the grin. “Merry Christmas, Peter.”

 

#

 

As he stands next to Tony on the balcony, Loki on his shoulder, Peter thinks that maybe,  _ maybe _ , he won’t have to lose anyone else.

Maybe he can keep this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed! Please drop a comment or find me on tumblr at @such-geekiness -- I love hearing from people!


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